Slip Of The Past
by BlueSapphire92
Summary: "They've never needed a reason to hit me."


**Fandom: **Harry Potter

**Summary**: "_They've never needed a reason to hit me."_

**Pairings:** Harry Potter/Hermione Granger (friendship)

**Disclaimer**:I do not own Harry Potter

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She's staring at me, I can feel it. My eyes remain locked on my hands, which I absentmindedly note are trembling. They were always treacherous like that.

"Harry."

I can't force myself to look up, afraid of the pity I might find in her eyes. I shouldn't have said anything but it had slipped through my lips so easily. My entire body was betraying me and it left me anxious and vulnerable. I can feel her shifting closer to me, crossing what little distance there is between us. The cushions of the couch dent and even out as she moves across, leaving shallow indentations on the padding from where the pressure of her weight pushed a little too hard. I can relate, except you can fix a pillow by fluffing it up, it doesn't work on people. Maybe it's a good thing she doesn't do that, being shaken and hit only ever made me feel worse anyway.

She hadn't understood why Ron had beaten up Seamus, so she'd looked at me with those big, curious eyes and asked me. She wasn't one to ask me for anything, ever. She always seemed to know much more than I did anyway. But she was confused about the incident, unable to understand why someone would willingly hurt another person. Of course she knew it happened all the time and violence was as much a part of our society as intolerance. Still, she had never felt the need to harm someone in that way. If I think about it, the question seemed so innocent and I love her even more for it. I don't want her to ever feel like that. When she asked me why anyone would ever do such a thing, I snorted because surely she knew? And in that split second before I answered I had forgotten that she, in fact, didn't know_. _

"_They've never needed a reason to hit me."_

Who? I could feel the unspoken question hanging between us. But she didn't need an answer, a part of her already knew. She was shifting through her memories, I knew, searching for signs she had missed at the time. But I'm sure her sharp mind had suspected before, she had always been rather perceptive for her age. I can feel her hand on my shoulder, her delicate fingers soothingly rubbing my skin. There was a time I would have flinched at that small gesture of affection; I have no doubt she's figured that out too.

"Harry." She's close, really closer because I can feel her breathe on me and it's giving me goose bumps. I shiver, a tremor running alones my spine before burying itself somewhere deeper. My heart's just skipped a beat, I think, but it's pounding so fast it's hard to tell. I've thought about telling someone so many times before but once the moment arrived I could never bring myself to do it. Why should I burden them with my problems anyway? I should be grateful to even have them as my friends, no need to scare them away. So why had I? I guess it's always easier to say something without thinking about it first. My subconscious must have been struggling with this for a while now; I guess my mind's betraying me too. Who would of thought? I guess you can't trust anyone anymore these days, not even yourself.

I finally gather enough courage to look up but I can't quite look her in the eyes. I idly wonder if it's storming outside. It seems fitting because the air's suddenly tense and gloom. Maybe she's expecting me to break down but I won't because they never broke me and no one ever will. I hate being weak, I hate the feeling of tears building up inside my eyes. Crying never changed anything; on the contrary, it only made things worse. I can still feel it though, the emotion welling up inside my chest causing this uncomfortable pressure. But I've learned to push them back, it's easier that way. The silence drags on; it seems she's trying to figure out what to say next. I think she's afraid I'll clam up if she says the wrong thing. My eyes lock with hers, her sadness is palpable but there's no pity and I'm eternally grateful for that. She opens her mouth just as I do the same and we both shut it with a click.

"Why…" she cuts herself off, it's the exact same question she asked before and she knows I already answered it. _They never needed a reason. _Maybe it was simply me, maybe it's in my blood. Which is probably true, they never liked the fact that there was magic in me and that's putting it mildly. I wonder why they never tried to drain it or just kill me. But I guess they were scared what would happen if the _freaks_ found out. Still, they could've made it look like an accident. But then again who would they blame for their problems if I was gone. Who would clean the house, weed the garden? Who would they vent their frustrations on? It had always pleased them to know they could control me. Where would I have gone anyway? There was no one to take me in, no one that cared.

"Will you tell me?" Her voice is soft and gentle and I know she feels bad for prying. I realize I've been staring right through her and she's concerned. She never liked to watch me space out. But how can I answer that question? Part of me doesn't want to even acknowledge there _is_ something to tell. So what can I say? It's too late to deny it anyway. I sigh and let my gaze roam the room, searching for something safe to focus on. There are some herbology books lying on the table, probably Neville's, he's always had a strange fascination for that stuff. It had never quite been able to hold my interest, no matter how many times I listened to him lecturing about plants and fungi. I feel her shift beside me and I realize I've been silent for too long. She's probably afraid she's pushed too hard but she shouldn't worry, I can take a punch.

"They never wanted me." It seems like a save way to start. Rather personal but I know I can trust her. It's just talking about it that bothers me; it would be so much easier if she already knew. Her hand's on my back now and I stiffen. I can feel her rubbing circles and I know she wishes to sooth more than just my apprehension but I'm not sure I can let her in that deep.

"They never held me." Her arms are around me now and I force myself not too flinch. She still takes me off guard sometimes but I trust her, I just don't trust myself. It's so easy to recoil from touch, so much safer. Her embrace is loose but I still feel suffocated. Don't get me wrong, I do like it when she hugs me. It just feels so foreign, yet undeniably right and that always makes me think of _them_ and how they're the reason I'll probably never get used to being cared for.

"Hermione." I applaud myself for keeping my voice steady; even though it feels like it's gonna crack any moment. I wrap my arms around her as I notice her shoulders shake. I'm surprised to realize she's crying, she's never been the overemotional type of girl. Her hold tightens, the way it always does when she's upset. It always helps her, for whatever reason, to make me choke. I almost laugh at the thought, death by hug, now that would make an interesting headline. "What did they do to you?" She whispers and I'm almost certain she's not asking me the question but herself. She sniffles and I'm reminded of one of the reasons why I never told anyone. I don't like the fact that I made her cry but I can't understand how just a few words were enough to make her burst into tears. She pulls back, vehemently wiping at her eyes. She locks them to mine, her gaze determined. I know that look, when she sets her mind to something there's no changing it. I might as well start spilling my darkest secrets; she won't let me go until I do anyway. I take a deep breath and she straightens her back. I know she's preparing herself to listen and a small tinge of trepidation appears on her face. She steel herself quickly though, one hand placed on my arm, the other in her lap. She knows that interrupting while I talk will make me shut down, especially if she uses affectionate gestures. It happened when she finally convinced me to talk about Cedric and it would be even worse now. I lay my right hand upon hers, giving it a gentle squeeze so she knows I appreciate her small but not so subtle act of comfort. It's hard to start talking, the words trying to pull back before they pass my lips. But I manage, after a moment of silence, to finally bring them out.

"I was never welcome in their home; from the moment they found me on their doorstep they despised me. I was Lilly's son, magic, a freak. I didn't understand when I was little, couldn't comprehend why they showered my cousin with gifts and kisses, while I sat in a corner watching. How was I supposed to know it wasn't right, that it wasn't my fault. I thought I was a bad person, they told me so often enough. I did not deserve affection, love wasn't meant for little freaks like me. For a long time I believed them. I believed them when they said I ruined their lives. When they yelled at me because I was too clumsy. When they pushed me because I was too slow. When they spat at me because I was filthy. When they slapped me because I dared to talk out of line. When they beat me because I was evil. I tried to prove them wrong, I tried to be better but it never changed a thing. They still hated me and I grew to accept that was the way it always would be.

How was I supposed to know it wasn't normal to starve a child, to lock it up in a cupboard for days on end? They never treated Dudley like that but I figured it was because he was their son. I was the freak of the family, the burden. I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone, didn't even want me to be seen. They were ashamed of me and I was ashamed of myself. Because I must have done something to make them hate me, at least, that was what I thought back then."

_The little boy shivered as he stared at the closed door, the tears on his face lost between the drops of rain that cooled his skin. He could scream, bang on the door until someone came to open it. He could find shelter somewhere, find a dry place to stay until the door unlocked. Or he could wait, right here in the pouring rain, in the dark. Holding back a sob, he closed his eyes. He should wait, right here, in the cold… forgotten._

So many times I'd wondered how they could so easily forget me. But had they really? Or had they done it on purpose. Had they left me in the rain, trembling from cold because they saw me as nothing more than a freak. Had they watched through the window, laughing as my knees gave out and I cried in silence. Alone.

I wasn't now. She was here, listening, offering comfort in the best way she could. How many times had I wished for someone to love me? She's moving closer, the warmth in her eyes melting away the cold memories. "I love you." Never had I thought I would ever get the chance to say those words. That I would trust someone so deeply -"I love you too"- that I would let them love me back.


End file.
